For Always
by LadyBastet92
Summary: Love is stronger then death; love is stronger then goodbye. Quasimodo/Esmeralda. Hugo-based. One-shot.


**A/N: This is pretty much as fluffy as Hugo!verse can get while staying in the realm of Hugo and not crossing over into Disney…but you know what? It's the holidays. If anything, it's the perfect time of year for a lil' fluff. Besides, this section hasn't really been booming with fics lately…**

**This song was inspired by the song "For Always" by Josh Groban, one of the very few songs that has made me cry. But another inspiration of me was that a while ago I imagined a picture in my mind of Quasimodo and Esmeralda meeting after their deaths. Having no drawing skills whatsoever AT ALL, I just thought "Oh well, it was a cute idea", and forgot about it. Until I had the epiphany the other night that, duh, I could write out their reunion instead. Brilliant, I know. "For Always" very much sets the mood for the story, as well as Quasimodo and Esmeralda's relationship. Even if you hate this story, I recommend you listen to the song just because it's so beautiful.**

**I also want to make it clear that I am not promoting any religion through this story. It follows the idea of Christianity because that was the dominant religion in Paris at the time, but even my portrayal of "the afterlife" doesn't perfectly represent their vision of it. This is a work of fiction, and I wrote it just for enjoyment, and I hope you can enjoy it at least as a work of fiction. **

**Hope you enjoy this cute little fic I've made. Please excuse any spelling or grammar errors, and please comment with any praise or criticisms you might have. And Happy Holidays!**

No pain. That was the first thing Quasimodo noticed. Not a day in his waking life had gone by without him being in some sort of pain. The arch of his back bearing down on him, or the lump over his eye making it unbearable to awaken with the sunrise. If not physical, there was always some pain lingering within his heart. Even during those rare joyous moments in his life, the shadow never went away. The ache was always with him to remind him who he was, what he was, what he could never be.

Only slipping into the abyss of his dreams could he ever relieve himself from this never-ending strife. That temporary relief when the sun went down was all Quasimodo could hope for in life. But every morning he felt the reminders of reality sneak back up his spine and into his heart. Every morning he wished he could go back where he felt as light as a feather and free as a bird, that land where impossibility was reality. But dreams were dreams, and until he was set free, Quasimodo had to bear with the reality of his life, his shape and his maltreated heart.

For now, Quasimodo let himself enjoy the few moments of peace of body and soul he had ever experienced while he was conscious. He didn't open his eyes, in fear of reality crashing down on him as soon as he did so. He put off the expected pain as long as he could, smiling in his dreamlike respite. Time passed by without Quasimodo moving or making a sound, enraptured by the sensation of a painless existence.

Suddenly, the alarming amount of space between his arms became apparent to Quasimodo. He was holding air. The spell of tranquility was instantly broken. Quasimodo's mind rung out in alarm, as he snapped opens his eyes.

Esmeralda was gone.

Quasimodo jumped to his feet, his chest burning with rage and panic. They had taken her from him while he was asleep! The precious girl who he swore to protect till his death was now separated from him! What had they done with her? They could not throw her onto a heap with everyone else, burn her until she was mingled with the earth's ashes. He would not allow it! His Esmeralda would not be forced to decay among common sinful thieves and criminals. His precious jewel would not be ripped from his hands!

As Quasimodo took in his surroundings for the first time, allowing some of his panic to fade and unclouded his eyes, he realized that he was no longer in a black hole, surrounded by hundreds of other dead and decaying bodies. All he could see was white. It went on for miles in every direction, like the open sky. Living his whole life in the clustered city of Paris, Quasimodo had never seen a place that was so open and clear. He started to wonder if he was still asleep and this place a concoction from his imaginative mind.

If that was so, then Esmeralda was safe in his arms back where his consciousness lay. Quasimodo had only to wait until he woke up to feel her skin pressing against his arms again, her hair brush against his face. But Quasimodo still did not feel content. For the first time, Quasimodo wished to be awake while he was in a dream. Rather be in pain and be with the girl he loved then free of it without her.

A bright laugh cut through his discordant mind. It echoed all around him and within him. For a second, Quasimodo was thoughtless, as he let the song vibrate within his ears before fading into oblivion.

Now he knew he was dreaming. Quasimodo hadn't been able to hear in over ten years. The only sound that could reach him past his shattered eardrums were the ringing of his bells. Massive and overbearing songs for the common ear were all but a small jingle in his own. Never something as small and gentle as a laugh had ever reached his ears.

He heard the laugh again. He hadn't heard the birds songs since he was just a boy, but that laugh seemed to belong to some sort of nightingale in human form. The richness and joy in such a voice could only belong to one as free and innocent as a bird. The voice was small, yet striking with splendor. It was the most beautiful thing Quasimodo had ever heard – even more beautiful than the voice of his _Grande Marie_. There was only one whose beauty could parallel the perfection in that voice.

Quasimodo decided to follow it. Whether or not he was in a dream, that voice was too captivating to ignore. It rang out again and again, and Quasimodo could hear it getting closer and closer. Even if the voice was only a spirit riding upon the wind, it was enough for Quasimodo to savor for these sweet moments. But he didn't want the sound to slip through his fingers and disappear – he wanted to find the source.

Then he saw her. The only comparison that Quasimodo could imagine at this moment was the feeling of a lonesome Sheppard boy watching the shining angels arise from the darkness and exhale the birth of our Savior. The soiled meeting perfection. _Le laid regarde la belle._ The boy is blinded by the brilliance of their unimaginable beauty. He is struck silent by the miracle. All he can do is watch and hope some of their light will bless him with its grace.

She was an angel. She had to be. What human could dance on air and sing upon the winds? What earthly creature could touch the beauty in her face, her body, her eyes? Quasimodo had always believed this. From the moment she had given him water that fateful day on the pillory, the girl was nothing less then heavenly perfection to him. But to see her now, dancing and laughing, shining in the light of the whiteness, was a miracle. Had he not watched her neck break before her eyes? Did he not feel her body turn cold in his arms? But here she was, dancing with the body and soul he thought he would never see move again. The body he had mourned over for months, which he had spilled tears onto in agony, which he took into him arms and held onto out of desperate love and devotion, was alive.

_Esmeralda_.

That moment, Esmeralda stops dancing to turn to Quasimodo. Overcome with the feelings of unworthiness and ugliness that always arose in the presence of her penetrating beauty, Quasimodo began to slowly back away. But instead of the looks of fear and discomfort that Quasimodo had grown accustomed to every time she looked at his face, Esmeralda smiled. Quasimodo stood shocked. What's more, Esmeralda opened her arms to welcome him and invite him forward. _Definitely a dream_, Quasimodo thought. But he slowly made his way towards the girl and her open arms, until he was barely within her reach. As soon as he was, Esmeralda did what Quasimodo wouldn't have expected in a million years – pull him forward into an embrace. For a moment, Quasimodo couldn't bring himself to hug her back, astonished beyond belief. She was _touching_ him. _Willingly_. But her embrace was too warm not to return, and for the first time Quasimodo let some spark of joy fill his heart. It was almost enough to make him melt from ecstasy to have her skin reunited with his, but this time with warmth in her touch, instead of the icy coldness of death.

"Quasimodo," Esmeralda whispered with surprising softness in her voice.

It was the first time Quasimodo had ever heard her voice. Many times he used to sit in his bell tower as she sang in the streets below, resentful towards his deafness for keeping her beauty from reaching his ears. He imagined the entire splendor her voice possessed for those who could hear it. Now that he could, he wanted to cry for absolute joy. It was all he had imagined and more.

When the bliss of the moment in her arms began to fade, inexplicable questions began to buzz in his mind. "But you were…" he started puzzlingly.

Esmeralda softly pressed one of her dainty fingers to his lips, asking for silence. "You're not in a dream," she said, as if she could read his mind. "You're free."

Confusion clouded Quasimodo's features. "I'm free?"

"Free from the chains of life – like me." Esmeralda pointed downwards, were a portal opened up beneath their feet. In it, Quasimodo could make out two figures huddled together on the ground. When he looked closer, he realized it was himself, his arms still wrapped around Esmeralda's body, both as still as stone.

It didn't take too long for Quasimodo to register this. It all made sense now. Esmeralda's body had never left his arms – his spirit had left his body. The two bodies were still safely intertwined with each other on earth. Although Quasimodo could no longer feel her physical body in his, it brought him some comfort of mind to think that until their bodies turned to ashes, they would never be separated.

"I watched you every day," said Esmeralda, the portal disappearing into the whiteness. Esmeralda looked into his eyes, a tender smile upon her lips. "You never left me. I never could have imagined…thank you Quasimodo."

Quasimodo said nothing. He found it just as hard to talk to her in death as in life. But the way she was treating him baffled Quasimodo. All that time in the bell tower was spent with him trying to avoid her, and only watching her as she slept. Esmeralda had made it very clear that she wanted nothing to do with Quasimodo, and although she did not repulse him altogether, the downward casts of her eyes every time she saw him indicated great discomfort and pain on her part – thanks to the ugliness of his face. Now she was gazing into his eyes without any hesitation, with tenderness and compassion. Surely this was the same Esmeralda he had known; he had no doubt about that. But what had changed her so drastically?

Quasimodo noticed something around Esmeralda's neck for the first time. At first he thought it was some sort of necklace. But when he looked closer, he realized, to his horror, that it was a scar. Exactly where the noose wrapped around her neck during her final breaths. Quasimodo reached out to touch it, to make sure it was real, but before he could he quickly pulled his hands away, afraid of touching her now that she could feel it. But Esmeralda, noticing his hesitation, grabbed his hand and forced it to her own neck, as if she herself wanted Quasimodo to know that the scar was indeed a part of her.

Esmeralda gave him a sad smile, recognizing the look of disbelief and pain in his eyes. "It's okay. It's just a reminder of…of my mistakes. It doesn't hurt that much anymore."

Quasimodo began to tenderly stroke the scar, too overcome for words. He continued to stare at it with no emotions in his expression. Then he looked into Esmeralda's eyes and spoke to her for the first time. "You wear it like a queen."

Esmeralda gave him small, weak, but affectionate laugh. "It's not possible for you to think me ugly, is it, Quasimodo?" she said, with no hint of sarcasm or pride in her voice. Nevertheless, Quasimodo didn't like her tone. She sounded downtrodden and hurt.

"Because you aren't ugly," said Quasimodo earnestly. "You're beautiful."

"Perhaps on the outside, Quasimodo, but I've come to realize how ugly and tainted my soul really is." Esmeralda casted her eyes downwards, but for the first time, because of her own shame. Quasimodo, now seriously worried, risks touching her again and raises her chin to meet his eyes.

He had never seen the eyes of his angel like this. He had seen them filled with childlike joy and absolute fear – but never with guilt. Quasimodo could see the regrets and remorse swirling in her mind and soul in her clouded eyes. The millions of things she had wanted to say to him since she had left him. The apologies, the confessions, the explanations that she wished were excuses. Her death had made this carefree girl become wise. With fatality Esmeralda had grown old, but with wisdom came the pain of a burdened soul.

Esmeralda was about to let all her words spill out, but now it was Quasimodo's turn to raise his finger to her mouth. Quasimodo knew all the mistakes she had made, how unfair she was to him. Esmeralda didn't need to explain. Death had made him wiser as well. But they made no difference. The world could cry her out for a harlot, a wretch, a demon - and Quasimodo wouldn't care.

Because he loved her. Nothing could or ever would change that. It wasn't simply because she was beautiful. There were others more beautiful than she. He had known she was beautiful before, but he didn't love her then. It was the moment she showed she cared. A drop of water. A desperate cry answered when no one else would listen. It was from that moment onward that Quasimodo knew she was an angel among men. A thousand of the king's men couldn't drag that adoration from his heart. No act of cruelty from Esmeralda herself could even dissuade him. Because even though now he knew that Esmeralda wasn't perfect, Quasimodo always believed that she was good.

"I forgive you."

The tears began to spill from her eyes, and his as well. Tears of redemption and acceptance, tears that neither of them imagined would ever run down their cheeks. Esmeralda reached out to run her fingers through his bright red hair. Quasimodo moved closer to her then he had ever dared to before. Esmeralda leaned in towards him, and brought her lips to his ear, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

"I love you, Quasimodo."

They kiss.

Such simple words. So commonplace, so ordinary. Quasimodo himself often had such thoughts of love in his mind. He has imagined kissing her countless times. He had imagined her saying those words to him. He had imagined it. But the gap between the realms of imagination and reality are so wide, and crossings so rare, that when one does bridge these two worlds, the feeling is simply indescribable. Dreamlike, wonderful, amazing – such words are put to waste the moment her lips touches his.

Quasimodo is lost within her touch. He can see nothing but her and her blinding light. And he can feel release. Every bad thought, every haunting feeling, every painful day passed by, Quasimodo could feel being lifted out of them. His burdens, his anger, his agonizing pain disappeared. Everything he had hated himself for, everything he had hated the world for, was gone forever. All that was left was her.

When they broke off their embrace, Quasimodo watched as Esmeralda's eyes grew wide. "Quasimodo…you're beautiful."

Quasimodo almost laughed. Partly because he didn't believe it, but also because he simply wanted to laugh. He hadn't laughed in such a long time. But something told him this would upset Esmeralda, so instead he put his arms around her waist and smiled.

"Really Quasimodo," said Esmeralda, blushing a bit with joy, "You're beautiful."

So maybe he was. Quasimodo didn't notice, and didn't care. He did notice that the Esmeralda's scar was gone, leaving her neck as pure as the day she was born. Quasimodo had a sudden urge to kiss it, but he didn't dare. The Quasimodo of doubt and self-degradation was gone, but he was still Quasimodo. Instead, he kissed her on the cheek and pulled her in closer. After years of cursing his misshapen form, the moment Quasimodo's prayers came true, he didn't care. He did not need beauty, he did not need normality. All the beauty he ever needed was right by his side. His beauty was his Esmeralda.

"I think it's time for us to go," whispered Esmeralda.

She was right. The whiteness around them had dissolved into a single portal above them, where only more whiteness lay ahead. Quasimodo could imagine where the portal lead. It was strange. All his life Quasimodo had relied on the afterworld, waiting for the time when he would finally be at peace. He never imagined it would be so simple to let go of his life. And he never imagined having Esmeralda standing by his side. But with Esmeralda, it was simple. Esmeralda was all he ever wanted – there was nothing he was leaving behind.

"You will stay with me, right?" said Esmeralda, with some childlike doubt.

Quasimodo kissed her one last time, and whispered in her ear, "For always."

They held onto each other, and they let go. United together in body and in spirit, in life and in death. They ascended to eternity together, and this unknown did not scare Quasimodo. For he knew, as long as he was with Esmeralda, he would be in heaven.


End file.
